


Pressure Points: The Omitted Scenes

by EffortlesslyUncool



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffortlesslyUncool/pseuds/EffortlesslyUncool
Summary: These are the scenes that I won't place into the original fic in the interest of keeping the rating at a T.





	Pressure Points: The Omitted Scenes

**Author's Note:**

> What happens after Tifa puts Aerith to bed at the end of Chapter 7 anyway?

She sunk to the ground, sliding down the back of the bathroom door. Her clothes a pungeant smell of stale smoke, a reminder of the night. She has to shower. To wash. To cleanse. Tifa yanks the hair tye impatiently out of her hair; standing, she climbs out of the jumpsuit and kicks it into the corner of the room. Her bra shares the same fate. As does the thong that she begrudgingly agreed to wear. What kind of farce was that reasoning? Who the hell cares if anyone can see fabric lines? Aerith does. That's why she agreed. That's why she agreed to this whole charade anyway. But this was getting out of hand...

Tifa spins the knobs of the shower, tugging the curtain across the rail and checks the temperature of the water. Darting across the room, she opens the door and checks Aerith - a sack of limbs breathing heavily into a deep slumber. She closes the door silently, and twists the lock.

Carefully, she steps into the tub. The water feels much warmer than it needs to be. A cold shower is what she'd prescribe anyone else if they walked in her shoes tonight. To hell with that-

The warmth soothes the way her muscles are crying. She treasures the opportunity to enjoy a hot shower; weeks of continuous strain on her body is showing. She hasn't been in such good shape in all of her time in training, but the way her ligaments and tendons ache at night spent in tents reminds her that she has physical limitations and the chance of strain injury is just as real as the risk for more grave wounds at the hands of their enemies.

She squeezes a generous measure of soap onto the sponge. Lathers. Tifa scrubs away the dirt, the sweat. The imprint of Aerith's hand on the small of her back.

And there she goes again. She shouldn't...

_Friends don't get off while thinking about eachother, Tifa._

Tonight they do.

She angles the shower head toward the wall, places the stopper in the drain.

Tifa lowers herself to sit in the tub, water trickling as it begins to fill. 

Her hands tap and rub at her thighs. Looking down, she sees her body respond in kind to her own touch. Her skin puckers, and nipples are tightening. She feels a shiver arise and slide to the base of her spine where her need is expelled from her mouth in gasps when her index finger follows the middle one and briefly gratifies her as they graze her. Good gods this should be alarming. But it isn't.

She has muted her rationale. Aerith's voice replays in her mind with the series of events as the night unfolded. She pushes past the guilt and shame.

Her fingers slip between her folds. They move without resistance, she attempts to stifle a moan as she massages her entrance, and back to where she throbs. To know how Aerith's fingers would feel...

She wants to find out. She wants to know how those calloused hands would caress her. The hands which work dilligently with flowers, the hands which grasps hers and the fingers which trail fire across every patch of her skin that she touches...What would they feel like to be touching her intimately?

Tifa lurches, her hips buck. Uncomfortable at best but it will have to do...

She rubs. Her fingers circle herself; her free hand reaching up to cup a heavy, aching breast. She tweaks her nipple. What would it look like, to be watching Aerith lap at her? What would her eyes look like as she looks up at Tifa from between her thighs and how would her lips look when they smile as she penetrates her for the first time?

Fuck.

She hastens her tempo. She's so. Fucking. Close.

But then again, what would it feel like to return the favor? To give in. To show Aerith that words always fail her but actions will always cry louder. What would she sound like if Tifa caved in and ravished her like she deserves?

Would she be assertive or would she allow Tifa to play with her? Would she be vocal, would she moan if Tifa bit her neck? Would she beg for her to stop?

The levee breaks and Tifa stiffens, swallowing her own voice as she comes apart at the seams; tumbling over her climax as it coarses like kerosene throughout her body and leaves her limp in a tub now half filled with water.

She'll deal with the emotional repercussions tomorrow. She towels herself off, still sensitive to the way her thighs rub against her. Dressed in a long tshirt, she climbs into bed. For the first night in a long while, she opts against moving too close to the slumbering Ancient.


End file.
